I must dispel this sense
of foreboding, this hungry animal of indignant feelings that
feed's on my very soul. For if I do not malice will take its
place.

For the past month I
have gradually sunk to the lowest ebb, my emotions are ragged. My
body tired of the internal conflict that threatens to over throw
my very sanity. Still long hours provide passage to my inner
voice who like a malevolent devil conjures up images

and allows the drama to
play in the theater of my mind. A performance like no other, each
scene compounds my jealous rage; there is no antidote for hate.
And yet

a sound or smell
refreshes me for a period affording joyful recollections of a
young love, innocent of the turmoil that matrimony and age
bestows . Oh how once we were members

of that carefree
institution- and then the honeymoon ends.

Life then becomes a
habit- like your warmest winter coat; even when you've out grown
it still you can't discard it. The adhesive of love can melt just
like an autumn frost, but I cannot say for sure when the rime set
in.

Was the evidence there
and perhaps I just didn't see it, were the clue's evident and I
choose to ignore them? - In any event I am here, a prisoner of my
own covetous sprite.

When in the night I
yearn for release, still they linger, insecurity and
contempt.

Oh what wickedness still
lies beside me, no doubt content in her perverse dreams of
another- her midnight moans are not of pain more over a
fragmented pleasure recalled.

Whilst devoid of my own
slumber I lie and stare at the ceiling combating with my

inner turmoil that her
affair my be of my construction. I twist and turn in what seems
an endless night, and then my determination rises, before
dawn-tomorrow she must confess. My confrontation will show no
mercy, she will admit to her adultery-I expect no less.

But when the morning
comes as there have been many others my Dutch courage has
vanished like a phantom and left my feelings sober, she smiles
across the breakfast table at me and I return the gesture. But my
manner is without conviction- a painted face, a mask of
deprivation. We seldom speak much albeit we are alone;
conversation is meaningless unless the topic is shared with
sincerity, but although when I try to brooch the subject of her
last evening out and who she was with, she charges me with
interference and vacates the discussion, leaving an abyss of
silence. In these moments |I hate her.

Sometimes the phone
rings but when I answer the line goes suddenly dead- and always
the number is withheld, this fuels my anxiety and fills up the
well of my anger. My frustration in my compulsory solitude is
then aimed at the very same device. After which I imagine him
breathing, his heart racing.I hold the handset, staring,
wishing-willing him dead by my thoughts alone. But I know this
cannot happen.

I am weak, I know that.
What other man would allow this situation to continue, a better
man would be direct, confront her say things like-'It's him or
me'- 'what does he offer you that I cannot'? - Am I afraid of
the truth? - Honestly? - Yes. I fear that most of all.

So I hold my tongue,
pretending that nothing has changed, but deep down I loath her
deception, sometimes in my moments of deepest despair evil
thoughts invade my reason,

the malevolence takes
form .I see the knife grasped in my blood drenched hand, her
crimson life force dripping onto the bedroom carpet. The gaping
throat wound gurgling as she tries to suck in her last dying
breath.

My feeling of repulsion
and liberation compounds into a drug, as she lies prone on our
martial bed, her eyes wide and terrified at my covert revenge.
All the while I am detached from myself overcome with the
intoxication of deliverance.

Still I must persuade
myself that these actions must remain forever a cerebral
illusion, for I have neither the courage nor the strength of
character to deliver. Conclusion is evident- she has won.

Now that I concede I
feel a weight has lifted from my shoulders, the fog of
detestation has at last begun to thin letting in the sunshine of
clarity. I shall wait until her next digression.

I must prepare with
secrecy, the act will lose potency if detected early-my regret
will be that I shall not see her face when her eyes befall my
finale, and my worry is that the rope will hold my weight and
carry me swiftly into the realm of serenity that I yearn
for.